Underwater

I dreamt that I was drowning. The only voice I could hear was my own, a retarded echo of names which floated away in the body of untroubled bubbles as if repelled by my desperation. Desperation...? 

°b°u°b°b°l°e°s° 

That is right, what could I possibly be hoping for when I have already decided to float in the current until the end of my consciousness? Why, is my feeble arm outstretched, as if I could catch a bubble and leave this depth. Perhaps I only want to show you that I still think there is a reason worth holding on to in a life that is only loved by the moral conscience of detached independence. Even when I am welcomed by death before my time, I could only think of living to appease the tears one should never shed. Can I not breathe for myself, not even once?

If I cried in this ocean, my sadness would only become a part of the beauty behind a picturesque sunset. Then, I have to ask myself: do I want my tears to be noticed? Who knows. Indecisive as I am, whether or not I am saved, I would be grateful either way.

Sing to me as my memories turn to foam so that I may lose myself in song instead of sorrow.